True Lives
by Compelled
Summary: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys. drabble series.
1. Won't Back Down

_A/N: I fucking adore Danger Days. Like, so much. I have my own opinions about the actual plot of it, and think that, for example, Grace is an example for all us fans/kids, and the band is trying to protect all of us, but this is all based in universe, if you will. my facts may be off, as alot of fanfiction shit often is, and I've never written anything like this before, so bear with me. Real people are fucking hard to write, seriously. there will be no 'pairings' in here, no slashing. Just so you know. :D I hope you enjoy. I know the guidelines say no real people, but since these aren't really My Chemical Romance, they're the Killjoys, I consider it more comic/movie. I hope it's okay. :I_

_These are all just short drabbles, written with the song as my iPod plays. _

* * *

There weren't many Killjoys left. Hell, there weren't many to begin with. Sacrifices had to made, and made they were. They were lucky to have a few younger members who played off as a simple teenager rebellion, spreading information through text messages and poorly spelled, lopsided graffiti spread on huge walls.

But they were caught. They were punished. And the phone towers were shut down. Walls were painted with cheap, bleaching white-wash, until all the signs of life were washed away.

Their fabulous killjoys were drudging through shiny hallways and taking chalky pills and watching oh-so-hypnotizing, oh-so-false advertisements and even shoddily animated kids shows had blaringly obvious subliminal messages, a cheery BL/ind smiley in the corners, more mocking and patronizing than goddamn Clippy-

(not than anyone remembered him, anyway, too concerned with not being burned as a blasphemer by Mother Nature herself, or having their organs disintegrated to disgustingly colored soup by lazer blasters to remember unhelpful Word mascots)

-but, they had tried. Thought that counts, and other such pleasantries. And the rest of them would keep trying, until there wasn't a single one left.


	2. Goodbye Horses

Her lips felt dry, not chapped, just dry, like when she had a cold.

Her mouth was coated in something slimy and scary, and she could feel screams welling up in her throat, her thoughts racing as shadows and terror ran through her, all incoherent but so bold, so real. Bright lights shocked into her line of sight, and she was unsure what was happening. All she could feel was the pain in her eyes, like even though the lights hurt them she was afraid to close them any more than a squint, her fingers clawing against something, reaching, aching to hold onto someth- someone. She was afraid, so afraid, and she was felt positive that if she could not feel her heart pounding in her heart, she would swear it was shattered. She felt hair- fur?- giving way under her fingernails and she felt her limbs seize up in terror, feeling positive it was a draculoid, that they had found her, that it was- it was-

It was just a dream.

Her small body racked with violent shivers, and she lifted a dainty fist to rub away the sand that had collected throughout the day in her hair and was now encased in her eyelashes. It registers they are still crowded in the car, and it takes a second for her realize the car is stopped, that the rocking vibrations are from the ribcage she's leaning against. She blinks heavy eyelids and glances upwards, staring at Fun Ghoul's lips, the way they're moving, not quite mumbling, but definitely not speaking.

He's singing.

Quietly, the edges of his mouth twitching into little smiles around the words, he's singing, one hand's fingers tapping on the worn upholstery of the backseat and the other doing a swaying dance in mid-air. She figures he doesn't realize he's doing it, but he has a nice voice, rough and comforting, so she stays still, breathing as softly as possible. She can't make out very many words, but there's a distinct cooing to the song, almost a lullaby, and she slides back into a serene darkness just as his hand begins to still and warm eyes glance down on her face.


	3. In The Meantime

They sit in an empty, half destroyed diner. They raid the place for extra supplies, coming up pretty much empty handed, other than cans of peaches and a pack of melted crayons. The booth beneath their butts is half melted from lazer blasts, but the canned peaches they found aren't quite black yet, just a sickly brown, so they figure its okay to eat them. This road to nowhere is damned long, and they learned quick to keep things as light as possible when they could. When it wasn't directly a threat to their mortality to do so, anyway.

Fun Ghoul is tediously applying stickers to his Blaster, and they all know he cares too much about them to mock him for it, but they still make a good show of rolling their eyes until he makes a grinning jab at Kobra Kid and Party Poison for their near immaculate hair. Jet Star feels free to act as the tormented mother hen, chastising them with extra vulgarity to behave themselves. They don't of course, but then again neither does he.


	4. Whoa Oh! Me vs Everyone

His back hits the car, and the metal is freezing cold compared the roaring heat filling his chest. His eyes blur, and he feels the car falling away in little chunks until he's leaning against a chain link fence and the blur in front of his eyes is his hair, damp with rain.

There is a young, slender blonde girl in silky, soaked pink flats that look out of place next to his beat up Chucks and the size difference makes him blink harder. She's smiling widely, holding out a piece of paper resting on a cd case and a pen, and there are rough callouses on her fingertips. He recognizes those, and he recognizes the rough scars on her wrists, glad to see there are no bandages, no scabs. Her voice tumbles past his ears as he signs her name, catching a few key words he's never heard directed at him personally. 'Hero, saved my life, thank you'. He smiles, and her ears turn scarlet under her fine hair.

Frank kicks Gerard in the balls, and his fingers nearly slip of the chords. He can see a shocked, gleeful expression on Mikey's face briefly before he pulls himself together to focus on the music again.

There isn't so much an announcement of it, so much as Gerard has suddenly become a snarky bitch. More so than usual, that is. They're all too happy to mention anything about it, but they quickly become fearful when Gerard starts to get uncontrollable shakes. He can't sleep, and they can see the roots of his hair when they visit, but the fear is overrun by their pride. He's doing it. His best friend, his might-as-well-be brother, he is doing it. So Ray pops by with a DVD copy of Phantasm and those weird dumpling things from a Chinese restaurant down the street and makes it as casual as possible. Gerard is using his usual odd hand gestures as he talks about this comic idea he has, eyes trained on the TV rather than Ray, but that's cool. He wants to bring him a goddamn cake though, because holy shit. He's so proud it makes him cry. Or, it would, but he's not a chick. Instead he shoves another dumpling in his mouth and nods his approval of what it is Gerard is talking about.

He can hear Frank squealing from the back of the bus, Bob's gruff voice complaining behind it. Mikey scoffs from behind his coffee cup and smiles.

They are his best friends, goddamn it, and they are all sweaty and smell like shit. They left him at the goddamn gas station a fucking gain. But they are his best friends. His brothers. And they suck ass, because it's fucking boring as hell waiting for that tiny van. His hair is fucking huge and they are in a tiny white van and how the fuck did they forget him again. Fuck.

Girlie is grinning at him like a maniac while Frank and Mikey try to balance on one leg in some sort of 'ninja meditation pose' he is certain they stole from a cartoon.

His mother's smile is above his head, humming softly, and then a kiss is pressed to his forehead.

So long and goodnight.


	5. Breakin' Dishes

Kid Kobra had always wanted to do this. Of course, he never thought it would actually happen. He leans against the car, glancing at the magazine which is, admittedly, boring. He tries to look as nonchalant as possible, but the facts are he's is brewing up, boiling over, and his knees shake with rage.

The houses lights are all out, even though it's five in the evening. But he's pissed. He's beyond pissed. Him and the crew discussed not doing this, but he can't but think that if they, and the other killjoys could break away from the pills, maybe he just needed a little push. He ignores the fact that the doses, especially for those who pose a risk, are much higher now, and Bo- he is pretty beefy, and has a higher dose anyway, and figures it is at least worth a try.

This was one of his best friends, after all. He blocks out the fact that if couldn't even help Al-

He kicks the door in and relishes in the sound of wood splintering. Then he sets to destruction mode.

He knocks shit on the ground, gives the TV a kick off its table, rips apart the kitchen, and cuts and burns and tears all the clothes he find. He goes as far as to stuff a roll of toilet paper in the toilet, flushing until it overflows all over the floor. He sprays a can of shaving cream into a pillow case.

It's childish and fucking stupid and he fucking loves it. He drives off with tears in his eyes, his heart led in his chest.

It'll never fucking work.


End file.
